


We Move Along (Together)

by thatonegreenpencil



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Gen, Humor, Hurt Prompto, Hurt/Comfort, Implied promptis, Injury, Poisoning, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Indulgent, Team Dynamics, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonegreenpencil/pseuds/thatonegreenpencil
Summary: It's just one day till the next town. They'll make it. He can make it.(In which Prompto doesn't tell anyone he's hurt. It's fine.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So........ I love Prompto and I show my love by making him suffer and then having his teammates give him love. Sorry Prompto ;w;
> 
> Also I've only been in the fandom for about a week and have only seen parts of the game (and all of the anime) so I apologize in advance because all the characters will be super OOC probably
> 
> This is a really self-indulgent fic.... but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

It’s—you know, it’s fine. The pin-prick puncture points on his abdomen slightly oozing blood is _nothing_ compared to the injury his friends might sustain if he remains frozen to the spot like an idiot.

Yet, Prompto can’t help but ghost his hands over the wound and feel his own skin throb beneath his fingertips. There’s just something—dunno, _off_. It’s not like it hurts or anything, but the pulsing—it’s unnatural, like feeling a slug taking its last dying breaths, its body expanding in and out, in and out—

“ _Arrgh_!” Gladiolus’s shout snaps Prompto from his stupor, automatically driving him back into battle without a second thought. Those bird things have completely overtaken the swordsman, ambushing him with their flurry of claws and feathers and _teeth_ . The last feature is the worst of all: their shark-like teeth are slick with foam, much like a rabid dog, and the intent to kill resounds with the _snap_ of every bite. If it weren’t for the teeth and the fact they flock to their prey like vultures, they wouldn’t be much different than those pesky Daggerquill.

Prompto’s side pulses as he brandishes his gun and starts hitting bird skulls and ripping out feathers at random, all while gulping down the memory of the bird’s teeth sinking into his flesh, only leaving behind those two, perfectly circular wounds. No, he’s going to be strong, he’s going to be brave like the rest of the group and swallow it down.

And while he’s busy tearing those birds off Gladiolus, the puncture wounds vanish from both his skin and mind. And soon, when they manage to drive the birds off and are congratulating each other with weary high-fives—it’s like the wounds were never there.

* * *

 “What were those things?” Prompto asks as Ignis comes around with the medical kit, checking all of them for any serious injuries. Other than shallow scratches from the birds’ dagger-sharp feathers, they’re all relatively unscathed. Prompto is actually the least injured out of all of them—which  _never_ happens—and he can’t help but feel a burst of pride when Ignis briefly looks him up and down and then passes over him without a second glance. Not a single potion is wasted on him.

“I… honestly have no clue,” Ignis mutters, head lowered over Noctis’s scratched forearm. There seems to be a little hint of shame in the man’s voice, which is just classic Iggy for you. “I’ve never seen such aggressive pack birds before.”

Prompto just sighs. “I can’t believe we got ambushed by _birds._ ”

A smile flickers onto Noctis’s face. “Those birds were pretty tough. And we got caught off-guard.”

“And we’re all tired,” Gladiolus adds from a distance away. He seems to be nursing his pride more than anything; he must share Prompto’s sentiments about the whole, ‘we-got-attacked-by-birds’ thing.

Noctis twists his head towards Ignis. “How far until the next town?”

“Quite far,” the blond man replies. “We could, however, camp for the night and then set off to town the next day. We’d be there by tomorrow night if there are no delays.” He then frowns, pondering something. “We’re also out of potions, so we should try to make sure no delays occur.”

They all chime in with their agreement and proceed to pile into the Regalia once more. As they drive, there’s a silence that’s permeated heavily by the members’ fatigue. But that doesn’t stop Prompto, who, by contrast, is positively _alight_ with good spirits. He’s not sure why, since he did just about as much fighting as everyone else in the car. Yeah, he usually has a larger energy reservoir and _mouth_ than his other, quieter team members, but the fatigue shared among them is infectious, most of the time.

This is clearly not one of those times because Prompto’s veins are practically _humming_ , just like the engine of the Regalia is. He can barely contain the urge to drum his fingers against the armrest of the seat, to tap his feet to the rhythm of the electronic music warbling from the car’s speakers.

The colors of the barren land around them suddenly kick up in saturation and everything turns feverishly bright. The glare is so dizzying, so disorientating, and he’s  _so_ convinced that it’s the product of boredom that Prompto loses his will to rein himself back after a while and lets the energy rejuvenate his vocal chords, which causes him to burst out into spontaneous song. Although Ignis hardly seems to be amused, Prompto catches a flash of a grin from Noctis in the backseat, and Gladiolus even joins him for a few verses of “I’m a Chocobo” that’s so off-key that, by the end, all that’s left are their own chortles mingling in the night breeze.

At hour three of their drive, Prompto stretches his arms out in front of him and notices that he sees four arms instead of two. “Uh, I think I’m getting really tired.”

“Figures,” Gladiolus says from the back. A hand is over his eyes, head leaned into the window. “You’ve been playing ‘I Spy’ with yourself for the past hour.”

“Have I?” Prompto’s sure the fatigue has finally caught up to him, now. Not only does he not remember what he’s been doing for the past hour, but there are plenty of other road-trip games to play that are infinitely better than freakin’ _I Spy_. “Ugh, I’m really out of it.”

“Perhaps it’s better for us to settle down for the night,” says Ignis, gesturing to a parking spot barely visible in the distance.

They pitch camp and start a bonfire going before they go back for Noctis, who is still dozing peacefully in the Regalia. When Prompto shakes him awake, the prince looks up with bleary eyes before swatting him away to get some more sleep. Prompto almost falls over trying to drag Noctis—who is surprisingly strong for a barely-conscious, barely-adult man—out of his seat. Thank the stars for Ignis, who is swift enough to catch both of them before their faces are imprinted by the pebbles and dirt covering the desert ground. Prompto’s so tired that he doesn’t even crack a joke, just continues supporting his half-awake friend to the tent while stumbling over his own feet.

The two of them collide with the blankets sprawled over the floor at the same time and fall asleep almost instantly. As the gentle rise-and-fall of Noctis’s breathing presses against his chest, the last thing Prompto feels is the minute buzzing of an insect in his ears.

* * *

 

“Prom—Uh, Prompto? Hey?”

He feels something akin to an earthquake shaking his body, its epicenter the strong hand on his shoulder. Prompto feebly attempts to push it away, every nerve in his fingers screaming in protest the moment he lifts his hand.

“You’re—you’re really hot.”

The blond opens his eyes a fraction and—god, it feels like he’s trying to pry open a set of titanium bars. “Are you coming onto me?”

He doesn’t have to see Noctis’s fraction of a smile to feel its warmth, how it shifts the air around them. “C’mon, get up and have some food. The rest of us already ate.”

The last thing Prompto wants to do is drag his screaming, protesting body from off the ground. But he tells himself that it’s Noctis asking him, so he pushes his torso up with shaking elbows and blindly accepts the soup Noctis is pushing at his lips. The creamy flavor revives his senses a bit and chases away a fraction of the fog shoved between his ears.

“I’m not kidding, though,” his friend’s voice says a bit clearer, a bit louder. “You’re burning up.”

“I’ve been sleeping on the desert floor, of course I’m burning up.” Prompto forces himself to stretch his arms. The screaming joints soon give way to a numb feeling of content that buzzes up and down his skin. “I’m as cool as ever.”

The single note of laughter that escapes Noctis’s lips rejuvenates Prompto more than sleep ever could have. His head is still throbbing and clogged with sleep, but something in that single laugh pierces through all that and screams at the rest of him to _‘Get the fuck up!’_ And Noctis’s firm grip is there to help him once the rest of his body begins to actually give an effort to untangle itself from the blankets. There’s something awfully wrong about the prince spoon-feeding soup to his useless lump of a friend, but Prompto’s not awake enough to fully ponder the meaning behind it.

“Okay, I think I’m awake now, you can stop.” That’s not entirely true: the pounding in his head seems to be even worse now that he’s awake to be aware of the pain. And Noctis is right, he _is_ on fire. It courses through his limbs and spine and pools in his brain as a raging inferno. But what’s the use in telling anyone? They’re out of potions and most medical supplies as it is so nothing can be done. He’d only just cause the rest of them to worry.

Still, he’s not sure the bluff will fool Noctis, and isn’t sure until Noctis finally removes his piercing gaze from Prompto and leads him out of the tent with the same firm grip on his wrist. All the other traces of their lingering here has been packed away; the only thing left standing is the tent he and Noctis just emerged from.

“Have a good sleep?” Gladiolus calls, wandering over to the two of them with thudding footsteps that ring in Prompto’s ears. “We tried to wake you earlier, but you must’ve been exhausted, huh?”

“Yeah, but this desert honestly sucks,” Prompto declares in a tone that he hopes is convincing. Ignis appears beside Gladiolus a split second later, pushing up his glasses.

“We’re already behind schedule as it is, so we need to get going.”

“Okay, okay, I got it. I’m itching for a real bed anyway, I’d like to be out of here ASAP.” As if to prove his point, Prompto immediately turns and begins to work on unhitching the tent. A bead of sweat rolls down his face as he exerts energy he doesn’t have, but he manages to yank out the supporting nails anyway.

Noctis’s eyes are on him the whole time. He can feel it.

After Prompto passes the rolled-up canvas to Gladiolus and begins to make his way to the car, Noctis falls in step beside him. “You should get some rest in the car.”

“I’m planning to,” he says truthfully. “Don’t worry so much, Noct. It’s the desert air is all, it’s killing me.” It’s not a lie. Even now, when the breeze from the night before has settled, Prompto can still feel the grains of sand clogging his throat and nostrils from the inside, tainting the slivers of fresh air that slips through. It’s suffocating, and only adds to the discomfort that his throbbing head’s producing.

Noctis frowns. “If it actually starts killing you, _tell us_ , okay?”

“Yeah mom, I got it.” The pain he’s feeling right now isn’t really painful enough to kill Prompto. If it was one of the others, they’d just brush it off as a minor annoyance, he’s sure of it. And, well, he’s sick of hindering the group all the time in the first place, and the thought of worrying them over a stupid headache clamps his mouth shut and keeps it shut. They’ll be in the car all day anyway, he can ride it out.

Prompto’s not sure when he falls asleep—the exact time is blurred between Ignis’s commentary on the bland scenery and Noctis teasingly asking Ignis if he’d thought of a new recipe yet—but when he wakes, he’s the only one in the car. All the possible, horrible scenarios completely fly over his head—his head that, judging by the pain, is actually trying to collapse in on itself now—and instead, Prompto looks up blearily and squints into the sun. Based on the position of its blinding rays, it’s a bit past midday.

“Finally awake?” He hadn’t even noticed Noctis coming up behind him or even getting into the car. Has he been here all along? “You just kinda… dozed off, there.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Prompto says, yawning.

Noctis seems to hesitate. “You looked pretty... well, pale. Like the blood in your face was being sucked out while you were sleeping.”

“Oh.” He’s not really sure how to respond to that. “Sorry, I guess.”

“Sorry, for what?” When Prompto glances into the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of Noctis, there’s worry etched all over the prince’s face. “I just wanted to let you know. It was like… you looked like a corpse. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Guilt pools in his chest. He’d made them all worry, of course. “Yeah, I already told you, I’m fine. Just tired.” He raises his head slowly and looks around.  “Where are the others?”

“Just a quick rest stop. Then we’re back on the road.” Noctis leans in closer, breath practically brushing down Prompto’s neck. “We passed a really pretty lake on the way here, you should’ve seen it, it was so big. Gladio was saying that we should throw you in, see if you’d wake up then.”

Prompto lets out a snort despite the tired fog weighing on his chest. He deems the effort ‘worth it’ when he catches Noctis’s tense features soften, just a little bit. “I would’ve thrown _him_ in.” He pictures the rolling sapphire waves sparkling beneath the heat of the sun, lush and lapping despite the dry land surrounding it. “You should’ve stopped to fish for a while.”

He curses himself when he sees Noctis’s face revert back to its stony edge. “Yeah, well… maybe some other time.”

A period of silence passes between them, only broken by the return of Ignis and Gladiolus, both of whom greet Prompto’s return to the world of the awake with rather enthusiastically. Despite the urge to fall back asleep, Prompto finds himself feeling secluded from the rest of them because he’s missed hours of banter. He forces himself to stay awake; the whole time he’s exchanging banter with his companions, he’s tottering on the line between conscious and unconsciousness.

But the more sentences Prompto injects with forced enthusiasm, the more the worry seeps from Noctis’s face. Words don’t reassure Noctis of his well-being, actions do, so Prompto keeps acting. He keeps acting for hours.

* * *

 It’s dusk when it happens. The palette of the sky is blending into combinations of purple and orange and blue, with a blazing trail of red lighting up the horizon they’re speeding towards. The two in the back have fallen asleep so Prompto allows himself to drift off for a bit too, head turned towards the expanse of desert cacti but his eyes seeing nothing.

The howling of wolves slices through the air a split second before the Regalia swerves and skids to avoid a blur of black fur. The tires screech, kicking up dust from the dirt road and the car  _spins,_ knocking the heads of more than one person against their respective windows.

“Fuck,” Gladiolus says, jerked awake and leaping out of the car before any of them even move. Ignis is on his heels, brandishing knives that gleam red in the fading sunlight. Adrenaline kicks in, forcing itself past the layers of lethargy piled on his muscles and fueling Prompto’s movements as he jumps out of the car himself, pulling out his gun. Noctis lands on the ground beside him, hilt of his sword held tight in his hands.

“There’s around twelve of them,” Ignis warns. All six growling, mangy creatures circle the four of them in preparation to strike. One of them lets out a howl that amplifies the pulsing between Prompto’s ears tenfold. He stumbles forward slightly, catching himself by jerking out his foot and grounding himself. None of the others seemed to have noticed. He breathes out, slow and steady, steadying his shaking, clammy fingers.

“Let’s do this,” he mutters under his breath the exact same moment Noctis warps behind one of the creatures and cuts it down with a single slice, a single flash of silver in the dim light.

Chaos. Suddenly, the serene calm from before is replaced by the sound of bullets and slicing swords and feral yelps of injured wolves. One wolf leaps at him from the front and Prompto fires a round of bullets into its stomach; the wolf yelps as the metal sinks into its underside and falls mid-air, blown back by the force of his gun.

Another jumps him from behind, digging its claws into his shoulder as it latches on, snapping its jaws in an attempt to rip a bite out of his face. Prompto twists to fire a bullet directly into the beast’s face, but as he does so, the beast claws its way further up onto Prompto’s shoulder, throwing him off-balance and causing the gun to misfire. The blond lets a frustrated growl of his own and throws himself onto the ground, pinning the squirming wolf beneath him. There’s a squelch as his own blood is pressed between him and the wolf’s fur, and when he twists around to pin the wolf down with his hands, he sees its underbelly stained with streaks of scarlet.

He unloads a hailstorm of bullets into it without looking, instead choosing to scan the area. Gladiolus has been lost in the rapidly-descending darkness, but he can spot Ignis’s spiky hair a few meters away, and flashes of electricity another meter or so away from Ignis alert him to Noctis’s presence. The wolf goes limp under his hand and Prompto leaps up, stumbling slightly, breaths coming out in labored puffs.

The gun-wielder scrambles over to Ignis, shooting a wolf that has its jaws inches away from Ignis’s leg and blasting it to the side. “How many are left?” he calls to Ignis, who kicks the same wolf away and sends its body skidding into the darkness.

“Not many,” the older man replies. Prompto lets out a relieved breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “I’m going to cover Gladioluslus. Cover Noct.”

“Roger.” Prompto can barely focus on the ground below him—it seems to be shifting, undulating like a storm-swept tide. _‘Just a few more,’_ he tells himself. He knows his movements are beginning to slow, the beginning of a losing battle with his own body. The warm rivulets of blood running down his back don’t help. Yet, he finds it in himself to stagger over to the bright yellow streaks of lightning in the darkness—to Noctis.

A stray bolt flashes past Prompto’s shoulder, a wolf speared at the end of its electric point. It swivels back the moment its paws touch the dirt with a manic gleam in its dilated pupils, ready to pounce on the spellcaster. It leaps and Prompto takes one—two—three shots before the bullet hits its mark. It falls to the side with a yelp, not out of pain, but of annoyance as it immediately stands back up with its hackles raised. Now, its eyes lock onto Prompto with the focus of a starving animal. Or, rather, a very pissed off one.

The scene that plays out seems like it’s in slow-mo with how sluggish his brain is at this point. He tells his legs to move but the message never reaches them, cut off somewhere between his brain and spinal cord, leaving his legs stiff and useless and bolted to the ground as the wolf charges at him with teeth bared—

Prompto wills his arm to thrust forward and catch the wolf’s bite, wincing in pain as the creature’s jaws rip into the skin of his forearm. The ground—the world— spins—is spinning—and a crazed sort of sob-laugh is wrenched from his lips because he’s getting—it’s a _wolf_ , a dumb fucking wolf that he should be easy kill with one or two bullets but his fingers twitch on the trigger but he can’t press, this is how he’s going to die, a wolf tearing into his face and limbs weak and numb and useless like the rest of him—

He passes out.

* * *

 There’s a lot of shouting. It’s all a blur of color and movement and Prompto feels his limp arms and legs being grabbed. A jolt of panic shoots through what little feeling he has left in his limbs, but there’s not enough feeling for him to yank them out of whatever’s holding them. He tries to feel for his gun, to see if it’s somehow still entangled between his loose fingers.

It isn’t. He falls back asleep.

* * *

 Prompto wakes with a soft groan escaping from his lips. The stiffness in his limbs beg to be released so he stretches with all his might, parting the folds of the blankets around him. They feel plush, softer than any car seat he’s ever been in—

“Awake?”

Gladiolus’s voice rumbles from somewhere to the left of him and Prompto blindly turns towards it. “Yep—” He’s cut off by a yawn. “Yep, I’m just peachy.” For the first time in what feels like years, sleep is the only thing fogging his thoughts, and even that is quickly receding like clouds on a summer’s day. He blinks his eyes open and is initially blinded by what he sees. “This is really white for a hotel room, isn’t it?”

Gladiolus shifts. “That’s because it’s a hospital room.”

“Oh.” Prompto lowers his arms slowly. “Oh.” It’s only then he notices that most of his body is covered in bandages that camouflage him with the hospital-white sheets draped over him and the bed. The dapples of red that break the field of white creates a stark contrast, makes the splotches even more noticeable.

“Yeah.” Prompto is glad for Gladiolus’s presence, then—there’s not even a trace of guilt or worry in the swordsman’s eyes; he’s as grounded as ever in an essence that can only be described as _Gladiolus_. “The other wolves were taken care of by then, luckily, so we got you here as fast as we could.” A chuckle escapes his lips. “It was hilarious to see Ignis speeding like that. I mean, at the time we were all scared out of our minds because we thought it was too late for you or something, but looking back at it, it was one hell of a ride.”

Prompto can’t help but laugh along. “Shit, you couldn’t have paid me to miss that. But... “ The smile quickly falls. He traces a few delicate fingers across his injured arm, dragging his fingertips across the ridges and layers of the bandage. “Shit,” he says, softer. “I got completely beat, huh?”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Gladiolus grunts. “You were apparently poisoned way before. Luckily, we got you here and gave you an antidote just before its effects became potent but still, a hell of a close call.” The man leans closer, elbows balanced on the edge of the bed. “When we brought you into the hospital, Noct said you’d been feeling funny all morning. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno,” Prompto mumbles. “Wasn’t thinking straight, I guess.”

Gladiolus lets out a thoughtful hum and—luckily for Prompto who would’ve died in shame if they’d kept pursuing the topic—moves on. “Iggy and Noct went out to stock up on supplies. But they were here all night too, just the same as me.”

“ _Nobody_ got sleep but me?” Prompto says, a twinge of guilt coiling in his stomach. Gladiolus punches it out by slapping him a few times on the back.

“We’re gonna spend another night in town, so don’t worry about it too much. This incident shook everybody, we all need a day to heal.” Gladiolus seems to be considering him, gaze scanning Prompto up and down as he fidgets. “Just _tell_ us next time, alright? So we can avoid this whole mess altogether. But don’t apologize,” he adds quickly, just as Prompto opens his mouth.

“Fine, you got a deal.” The younger man breaks into a grin. “But another day in town? Sweet, do you think they’ll have a ramen stand? I’m craving unhealthy food.”

Gladiolus chuckles. “Don’t let Iggy hear you saying that, the hotel room we rented has a kitchen in it.”

They exchange a few more minutes of banter before they decide to call the nurse in to get Prompto discharged. Problem is, when the nurse comes in to draw up the bill, neither Prompto nor Gladiolus have gil on their person, so they begin to launch into distraction tactics.

Terrible, terrible distraction tactics. How stupid they must look, two grown men floundering conversation with a petite nurse in the lobby of a relatively quiet hospital.

“Do we have medical—no, but see, we, oh—” The moment Prompto catches a shock of light brown hair and a flash of lenses, he jerks his hand up and waves the man over. “Hey, Iggy, we need some help over here!”

Another figure darts out from behind the taller man and overtakes him with quick strides and Ignis hurries to catch up. “Prompto,” Ignis greets with a curt nod, but the typical analytic gaze is replaced by something warmer. Iggy’s detached way of caring, Prompto supposes, and has to stop an even wider grin from overtaking his mouth to avoid looking like a sappy idiot.

It ends up blooming on his face anyway, when Noctis steps forward and stands directly in front of him, their faces only a few centimeters apart. His gaze burns with the same warmth Ignis’s did, and after hesitating a few more heartbeats, gives Prompto a quick but firm hug.

“Thanks,” Prompto says, face alight with gratitude and a bit of embarrassment—understandable, considering Ignis and Gladiolus and the nurse (who is sated by Ignis’s presence, by someone who actually knows what they’re doing) are _right there_ —but he returns the smile Noctis is beaming at him.

“Thank _you_ for staying alive.”

“My pleasure.”

They share another grin before Noctis’s face changes, more shadowed. “Why did you lie to me? You kept saying you were fine and, by the way, you’re a terrible liar.”

“Geez, harsh.” Prompto shuffles his feet. “I mean, it would’ve caused more trouble anyway. We were running out of stock as it was and I thought… I thought I’d be making a big deal out of nothing as usual. That it was just a headache.”

“Well, it’s weirder if you’re not complaining and commentating on all your emotions, alright? Just, don’t hide it. It was scary, almost losing you.”

“We’re all risking our lives, aren’t we?”

Noctis’s gaze flashes. “Not… Not like that. Don’t do it like that. If any of us goes down, we _all_ go down, alright? I couldn’t—I can’t.”

“Okay. I won’t.” Without thinking, he reaches out—just _something_ to wipe away the darkness off Noctis’s features—and takes the other’s hand. “I won’t.”

It works. The prince’s mouth twists up. “Okay, well, Ignis bought groceries—” He gestures to the bags in both his and Ignis’s hands. “So, breakfast?”

“I haven’t even had hospital food to eat, so—” Prompto grins. “Fuck yeah, breakfast it is.”


End file.
